The Quest for a Solution
by Fruitsaladsonic1
Summary: John Watson is miserable. It's been almost a year since Sherlock jumped and the world around John is slowly crumbling. To make things worse- Sherlock may not even be dead. The friendship between them slowly starts to tear and causes pressures on them both. Worse- a yong Mary Morstan and Minnie Watson decide to make an apperence much to the displeasure of Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: Yay! This is my very first fanfic although not the first one I've thought of. Really hope you guys enjoy! Don't know yet how long I'll make the story but I guess we'll see!**

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_**Chapter 1**_

_The Memory_

The air was stale and dry. The wind was calm. The noise of the street was almost non-existent.

A man on his phone, looking up to the sky almost breathless.

"It's true".

The man on his phone stands confused- still looking towards the sky- still looking at the figure on the roof.

**"I created Moriarty".**

No. That's not true. That can't be true. He himself had proved it to be wrong. The short man standing with his phone to his ear denies the other man's words. He knows it to be wrong. Why would he say this?

The dark haired, thin man wouldn't stop. His words stung the shorter man on the street. He wouldn't listen to his pleas- he just kept going.

He wants to say something- but the words don't come out.

Why can't the blonde haired man say it? Why can't he say what he feels?

He wants to come up to him- to his friend on the roof. The dark haired man stops him- outstretching his hand as if to grab hold of him.

Everything is spinning. The blonde doesn't know how to stop him.

The thin man on the roof hangs up. The man on the floor just keeps looking.

The thin man falls.

He just keeps staring; keeps holding his phone- holding his breath.

He still is falling…

_Falling_…

_**Falling**_….

**Everything goes black.**

His eyes burst open as he lifts himself in terror, breathing heavily and rapidly. He had had that dream many times before, but each time it happened, it felt more and more real. But then again- it was real wasn't it? It had happened almost a year ago. And the memory was still burnt into his mind.

**Sherlock Holmes had committed suicide.**

He rubbed his face with his hands as the sweat dripped from his forehead. There was no way he could go back to sleep- not after that. He could never sleep after that dream, and that was almost the 37th time he had had that dream in the past 6 months.

He got up from his bead and walked over to his desk in his small apartment. He opened up his laptop and waited for it to load up and be greeted with the same message.

"Welcome John Watson"

John went through his emails and began to remember how often Sherlock would go onto his computer without permission and read his emails. Usually the ones he sent to his girlfriends.

"That man…" John mumbled under his breath with his hand on his cheek and a small grin on his face. The grin quickly dissipated as he remembered the dream he had had just 10 minutes ago.

He checks his inbox- nothing new. He was hoping that sooner or later Lestrade would send him something about a new case. Even with Sherlock gone he still insisted on helping Lestrade. After Sherlock's name had been cleared- with a generous contribution from Mycroft- Lestrade felt as if he had been responsible for Sherlock's death. John didn't feel that that was the case, even though it could very well have been true. He, however, didn't believe that Sherlock would commit suicide because of pressure. John's head began to ache. He always got a headache when he tried to think of a reason for Sherlock jumping.

Suddenly he heard his phone vibrate on the table. Mrs. Hudson was calling him.

"I guess she couldn't sleep either" he said with a small grin.

Mrs. Hudson called quite often during the day but this was the first time she had called at night. John figured she was going through the same stress he was, maybe even at the same moment. Sherlock had meant a lot to her and his death was almost like losing a son.

"John dear, when will you come home? It's lonely here without you dear and I'm having the worst time of keeping up with the new tenants. It's a bit frustrating. I really do miss you. Won't you please come back again?"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Hudson", he began. "I can't come back to that place and you know that. It's just too difficult. Please understand."

She did a small sigh as her voice began to go back to it's usual calm and understanding tone.

"I understand dear. I won't ask anymore. But would you at least do me the kindness of a visit? I happen to have a letter addressed to you with me here. It seems whoever sent it didn't know that you had moved out of 221 B."

John thought for a moment and then gave in. He guessed it was the least he could do. Visiting Mrs. Hudson would at least give her some sort of comfort.

"I'll be there by tomorrow morning. Is that alright?"

Her voice took a happy tone as she agreed. Her spirits were lifted much higher now.

John did a small chuckle as he hung up the phone. It was good to know that there was someone still worrying about him. He had just put down the phone when he got a message from Lestrade.

"231 Crnwll., ASAP, Hom."

A **homicide**. Just what he needed. He preferred going out into the cold London night air and investigating a case than going back to sleep. He was tired, but knew that sleep was the last thing he wanted. Not if that dream was to reappear again.

As he left his small, sad apartment he noticed a picture of Sherlock on a shelf. He had taken it during their trip to Baskerville. He was sitting with a tea by his side, examining a sugar package out of curiosity.

"He thought it was the sugar. He was so embarrassed when I called him out on his mistake."

He chuckled lightly at the fond memory, but soon the smile dissipated as he walked out into the cold.

"Don't think about it. Not right now."

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**Authors Note: And that's chaper 1! Please R&R! I can't wait to get the story reaaaally rolling! :D **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I know the chapters are probably seeming just a bit short but don't worry- as the story progresses they will get longer! :)**

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_The Professional_

Lestrade was standing, somewhat leaning against a police car. He was very tempted to grab a cigarette. He wanted one badly. As he turned his head he could see John coming up the street, cane in hand. Without Sherlock, his leg had gone back to the way it used to be.

"What's the news?" John asked in a somewhat tired but steady voice.

"It seems this young lady picked the wrong night to go out. She was leaving this apartment here when someone attacked her. Or so it looks like."

"Or so it looks like?" John repeated out loud.

"The cuts on her body don't seem to be normal and neither is the blood. Some of it is dried, but she's only been dead for an hour. I called you in for a **professional's **advice but I don't recall blood being able to be that dark in a short amount of time. Plus I can't tell what cut the blood had come from."

John walked over to the body as Anderson flashed him his usual sideways glance, as if to say 'We don't need you here'. John, as usual, ignored it. He investigated the body carefully, using the small magnifying glass square that Sherlock used. Of all the things that belonged to Sherlock, that was one of the things he couldn't seem to just give away.

"The cuts on her arm are completely abnormal. There's so many of them in one place, and by the state of her body it's almost as if…someone just **dumped** her here."

Lestrade was puzzled. "Why would someone dump their victim in the middle of a street, right in front of the apartment she lives in?"

That would be a question to ask Sherlock if he was still here.

"I'm not quite sure myself" John replied with a sigh

"Ya right!" Anderson interjected as he walked into the conversation. "As if someone would be stupid enough to dump a body in the middle of the road. If the murderer didn't want to be caught, he wouldn't just dump her here. Obviously he killed her right here, after she walked out of her apartment".

"So how do you explain the dark, dried blood and the weird scaring all over her left arm? And how about explaining where exactly the blood came from? All the cuts on her body look old, not new" John challenged.

"If she was killed an hour ago, the cuts would have stopped bleeding and the blood would have dried. That's obvious. I don't see what makes you so **professional**. We have a team of workers cleaning up the crime scene and detectives on the job. We didn't need the '**freak'** back then mucking about with things and we certainly don't need you here now." Anderson said, a bit harsher and crueler then he intended.

**"Anderson!" **Lestrade snapped with fury in his eyes. That was a low blow. **"Get back to your job and stay there before I have you fired on the spot here and now!"**

Anderson with a look of surprise and regret for his words quickly followed his commanding officers orders.

John was silent and didn't know what to say. Those words hurt more than he expected.

"I'm really sorry. I'll make sure he gets a proper reprimand for that one." Lestrade noticed that his words weren't very comforting to his friend. John just nodded and mumbled 'Don't worry about it'.

"You must be tired. Why don't you go back home and get some sleep?" Lestrade asked in concern for his friend.

"Thanks but sleep is the last thing I want to do right now."

"Still having nightmares?" He said trying to somewhat change the subject.

John nodded towards the down, with his hand rubbing his neck. He was very frustrated with himself and his inability to move on. Why did it hurt him so much? No matter who he saw or where he lived, the feelings never went away and he never got better. He was starting to fear that he was going into depression.

"You're frustrated and tired. I know that you're probably afraid, but you're still human and you still need sleep."

John let out a pain filled sigh as he gave in.

"You're right" he said with sadness. "I'll take a cab home".

Before John was able to walk away, Lestrade put his hand on his shoulder. As John turned around he gave John a supporting look to comfort him, though his eyes were filled with sadness.

"It's been hard on all of us, but I know we'll get by…somehow".

John was able to force a reassuring smile to give his friend the comfort he needed to let go of his shoulder. He stared hobbling down the street, cane in hand as he hailed a cab.

The next morning, John tiredly got up from his couch. He was so exhausted that he fell on the couch and drifted to sleep without even changing his clothes. He put on a pot of coffee as he began prepare for a shower. He picked up his phone and noticed that he had missed a call from Mrs. Hudson.

"Bloody hell. What's the time…?" he asked himself as he directed his phone to the home screen.

**'1:30 p.m.' **He had overslept and forgot that he was going to visit Mrs. Hudson. He skipped the shower and quickly dressed. As he grabbed his walked towards the door with his cane he began to call Mrs. Hudson and explain why he was late. Understanding as usual, he began to relax his walking speed and walk out the door of the apartment complex with less tension. As he stepped out into the day he waited by a street for a cab. The feeling of less tension didn't last long as a black car rolled up in front of him. As its windows faced him he could see his reflection in the dark gray tint of the window. His expression was exhausted as he knew what was coming.

"Hello John. Good to see you again" The man in the car greeted.

"Hello Mycroft."

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**Author's Note: Hope that chapter wasn't boring for you guys! Trying to get major diolauge out of the way so that the fateful meetings can begin! Hope I'm getting some accuracy on character personalities :P R&R**


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